Encounters
by Sylpharios
Summary: It starts with desserts. Mercy X Widowmaker.


Before Angels & Spiders

A.N: They must have met at some point.

* * *

They met over desserts. Cupcakes as it were. The worst dessert for a first impression. Angela was two bites deep with glittered frosting on her lips when the greeting came. "Angela!"

Really, who catered full-sized cupcakes for a ballet after party?

She turned and felt relieved at the familiar face. "Gérard. These cupcakes are a delight!"

She have always found Gérard the most approachable out of all of OverWatch's (too many) commanders. Perhaps it was their shared European heritage that places her on eye level more often with the kind and easy going Gérard than his American top of command. It was because of him that Angela have found herself this evening at the L'Opera and not eyeballs deep in her latest issues of Nanotech Times. Her and half of the squad temporarily stationed at Paris to suppress pocket Omnic insurgency. It would be the first time Gérard would attend his wife's performance in 2 years and he would have brought the whole of Overwatch if he could.

"If all it takes to lure you from your lab is a good devil food cupcake, I'm afraid you won't get much done in Paris, Dr." Gérard flash his boyish smile as he stop in front of her, pulling onto the hands of another still making their way through the over crowded dessert table. "I wanted to introduce you to my wife, Amélie. It's about time you put a face to all my boastings."

And what a face it was, still in her ingenue make-up and straight from the stage. Amélie Lacroix makes her wish she had chosen anything but cupcake from the accursed dessert table. She made a light show of dusting off her costume from her struggle with the crowd but met Angela eyes head on with a heavily accented greeting. "Hello Docteur". Then those eyes trailed lowered. "It seems you have the devil on your lips.."

"I..what?" Angela doesn't know what caught her of guard more, the confusing statement or the way those intense hazel eyes seemed fixated on her lips.

"Ah, you mean to say "devil food cake on your lips", darling." Gérard's interjection in French snapped Angela out of her stunned state and her tongue automatically darted out to gather up the stray frosting. "I forgot to tell you that Angela here speaks fantastic French. She's from Switzerland."

"How wonderful! My English is tragic and it feels like Gérard have exclusively brought the entire American squad to this party." The switch to her native tongue was immediate, as though she had been holding back her breath just for this moment. Her French tickles Angela ears in just the right way. "Pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Ziegler. Gérard have told me you are the reason half of Ovewatch is alive today. On behalf of my reckless husband, thank you."

"Oh, Gérard exaggerates." Angela noticed the way Amélie's eyes lit up with a fond familiarity at her response in French. "It's all the wonders of modern medicine."

"Where half the wonder is developed under your theoretical works." The ballerina was quick to interject. "Modesty in moderation, Docteur." She added pointedly, with a smirk that playfully challenge any dissent.

Angela can't help but let out a small laugh and nod her head to concede. She tries to remember the last time anyone had told her to do anything in moderation. Her whole life have been a whirlwind of rapid advancement that moments of rest like now can be counted between the tips of her fingers.

"Amélie makes it a point to be scholar on all public information about us, Angela. She is very insistent on making sure I'm in good hands." Gérard rubs he back of his neck and practically glows next to his wife. Side by side they're the epitome of a power-couple. Him in his military dress uniform and her in full prima Donna attire. "Speaking of good hands, let me go make sure my men can handle their champagne and behave like the gentlemen they're not. Would you mind keeping my darling wife company for a moment, Angela?"

Gérard didn't give her the chance to response before dashing off toward the direction of increasingly loud conversation in the large ballroom. Amélie looks at her apologetically. "Forgive Gérard. While I love seeing him with his crew, I think he knows how much I detest practicing my English and have liberated me in your company. Did you enjoy the show?"

It wasn't her first ballet but Angela was on the edge of her (front row) seat the entire performance. The woman in front of her now commanded that stage like a lone star on a clear night sky. There was a confidence she exulted that spoke of a mastery over the arts like none Angela have seen before. Though, she didn't want to gush too much. "The performance was thrilling. I can't remember the last time I was so captivated."

The ballerina did the tiniest of curtsy, complete with a crossing of one leg behind the other; whole accepting the compliment. "I'm glad. Gerald can't be trusted with honesty, I think he believe me beyond faults. I was quite good at Playing coy during our courtship and I think distance have spun fairy tales of me in his heads."

"He might have mentioned you were a goddess once or twice." Angela helpfully interject, though she thinks Gerald was hardly exaggerating.

Amélie picks up a champagne flute and hid her smile behind her sip. How does the woman makes drinking champagne looks so elegant, Angela wonders. "Unfortunately as impressive as I am, his worship is for a greater cause." There was a resignation in her voice that seems almost foreign -admitting a truth that she can't change.

Angela let the moment hang in silence. What can she said when this was the first time Gérard have taken any sort of rest in 2 long, bloody years; when this was the first time he have seen his wife in the same length of time and have already gone off to be the commander in the ballroom. She herself have felt the pull of obsession with her work driven to its brink by the demands of her membership. By the demand of Overwatch.

The moment passed and Amélie was the first to recover from the solem reality. "Listen to me going on about myself like a prima Donna. Tell me, Docteur." Oh how that tickles Angela. "What's the latest excitement in the nanotech field?"

"You're familiar with nanotechnology?" Angela flinched as that came put more condescending than she anticipated. But she have spent years surrounded by colleagues who wouldn't even acknowledge the field let alone be interested in its discussion.

"As much as the layperson might hope to understand. I heard from Gérard you were able to perform miracles on the battlefield and my curiosity dove me to your dissertations. I've no doubt the juicy bits are locked away from public knowledge." Amélie sound genuinely curios, beyond the common curtesy of polite conversation, and acknowledge her own silent request to speak on the subject of her passion.

And talk Angela did. She never knew she was so hungry for an audience. Over the course of 2 champagne flutes she might have spilled forth a slew of medical jargons to fill two issues of Nanotech Times. It didn't help that Amélie was a captivating conversationalist. She listens actively - asking clarifying questions when the jargon did not quite have a French equivalent - and let Angela dominate the conversation otherwise. The Swiss doctor was never more glad of her multilingual abilities until then.

And the evening passed on, between practical applications of healing streams and champagne flutes. Angela was in the middle of explaining her hypothesis that a staff is the best applicator of a stream-based medication when Amélie place a hand over hers stopping its reach for another glass. The ballerina eyes danced with amusement.

"As lovely as you make the hypothesis sounds, Dr. Ziegler, I think I must do the horrendously responsible thing and get you some water." The taller woman reached further down the dessert table to a bottle water and placed it in Angela's empty hand. That was also when Angela realized how close they have gotten. She was practically leaning into Amélie for support, her feet suddenly shaky. How many champagne flutes did she go through without thinking? The doctor felt even more blood rushed to her face at the realization that she have let herself drink far pass the point of tipsy.

Amélie regards her warmly. "I think my silly husband is coming back from his great defense of the ballroom's integrity. You are a delight, Dr. Ziegler. I think I'm understanding Gérard's obsession just a little better now."

Angela swears if this woman was a singer she would break records with her voice. She focus on Amelie's lips through her haze as they seem to be saying something else. "I'll have to make sure Gérard finds you a reliable escort home in this case."

"You can escort me home." The words left her traitorous mouth before she can stop her self. It seemed natural enough, if she wasn't speaking to the comander's wife.

If Amélie noticed the hidden implication, she thankfully didn't acknowledge it. She playfully countered: "I would certainly if I have an inkling of where your base was, docteur. The paperwork to get myself clearance have been held up for weeks! Gerald is dying to show me off on duty."

"Angela." The Swiss doctor blurted out, seeing the silhouette of the commander in question approaching. Her eye lids are getting heavier as well. How late is it now? "Please, just Angela."

"Ah, so it will be Angela." Amélie smile as she guided the doctor to the closest chair next to the dessert table. Setting her down, the ballerina let her fingers trail a moment too long, just to make sure the doctor is steady, of course. "I enjoyed myself immensely, Angela. Thanks for keeping me in excellent company."

It was Cadette Oxton, the young new recruit, who escorted her home that night. There goes her facade of professionalism in Lena's eyes.

Afterward, Angela attended a ballet performance at every shoreleave.


End file.
